


Blueberry Scones

by orphan_account



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Eve Polastri is more than a little messed up as well, F/F, Femslash, First Kiss, Fix-It of Sorts, Manipulative Relationship, Post-Canon, Rough Kissing, The author can never write anything healthy, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Villanelle is really fucked up, twisted feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 08:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18178211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Villanelle takes a road trip.





	Blueberry Scones

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for the first part of this fic came from one of the first trailers dropped for season two that showed Villanelle struggling to stand in some sort of hospital :)

 

Villanelle has always enjoyed the romanticism of a good bubble bath. She twists her blonde hair into a loose top knot and sinks deep into the mess of lavender scented bubbles, wincing at the pain in her abdomen. Villanelles well aware she’d broken out of the hospital in Paris too quickly for the sutures she’d begrudgingly allowed a chipper nurse to apply to heal. It had been, of course, too much of a risk to lounge around in a local hospital veins full of sense numbing pain meds. It wouldn’t have been long until the local police force started sniffing around about how an unaccompanied woman like herself came to be wondering the streets of the city of love with a stab wound to her stomach.

  
  


Of course she was awfully good at talking. She looked non threatening enough to catch a ride with some unsuspecting tourist, especially wearing the drab blue jeans and T-shirt that she’d found in the lost and found before her hospital escape. They were at least two sizes too big and the young American tourist who had taken pity on her sob story was twice as trusting as one should be traveling alone in a foreign country. Natural selection she had thought later as she gave one last pitying glance to his body before dumping it at an abandoned rest stop.

  
  


The man had been carting around an obscene amount of euros. More than enough to finance a lovely field trip to London. She would have enjoyed a plush seat in the first class section of a jet  but unfortunately airport security was a gamble she was not up to facing even with her plethora of fake id’s.

  
  


It started pouring as soon as she crossed the border into the UK. She’d already rustled through the side compartment and found a can of beer still ¾’s of the way full. (Drinking and driving was a very American experience after all) and an old fashioned CD sleeve full of trashy pop music. She’d slid the disk in and rolled down every window in the vehicle. She’d sped through the English countryside music blaring tires screaming down unpaved roads and did her best to push the memory of Eve’s shocked expression after she’d stabbed her out of her mind.

  
  


It had been almost unbearably comical the way the British woman’s face had shifted from self satisfied to horribly guilty before she’d gone tearing into Villanelles kitchenette screaming about fixing it. She’d give almost anything to be a fly on the wall when Eve must have come back into her bedroom arms laden with dish towels and cleaning supplies. Of course Villanelle had been long gone by then.

  
  


She’d checked into the bed and breakfast on the city outskirts at around midnight. From the peeling paint in the lobby to the ecstatic expression of the woman at the front desk when she noticed her it was clear business wasn’t booming. Villanelle was happy to see the paper registry on the woman’s lap. It was so much easier to get by on  an alias when there was no electronic trail. She looked a sight stumbling inside drenched, caught without an umbrella in the middle of a rainstorm.

  
  


“You poor thing! The storms are awful tonight.” The woman tsks dropping a room key into Villanelles outstretched hand.

  
  


“How much do I owe you?” Villanelle had asked praying her flat tone properly conveyed her attitude towards small talk.

  
  


“It’ll be 17 pounds dear.” She’d smiled. Villanelle shoved a hand into her jeans and retrieved a handful of excess coins dumping them on the check in desk. She stood there for a moment intending to wait for the slow moving concierge to count out her change but found she was  much too exhausted.

  
  


“Keep the change. You obviously need it.” She’d smirked and walked towards the staircase.

  
  


“Oh. Alright! Breakfast is at nine!” The woman had called after her.

  
  


Villanelle had used the railings to pull her way up to the second floor. It had taken her three tries to unlock the door accustomed to high tech hotel key cards as she was. She’d fallen asleep on the scratchy patterned comforter fully clothed. It was only in the soft light of morning that she realized she’d forgotten to sweep for bed bugs.

  
  


She stays in the bath long enough for her fingers to prune letting her free hand trace over the antique clawfoot base. It felt good to let herself relax, but she knew she had other things to take care of today. Villanelle hadn’t been particularly interested in taking up the old woman’s offer for breakfast but she changed her mind when she caught a whiff of the cooking through the air vents.

  
  


She’d dressed in the same clothes she’d worn yesterday grimacing at the feeling of the still damp cloth on her skin. The house was empty the only other person that ended up sitting around the breakfast table was a gruff older man with wire rim glasses. The woman Villanelle had met at check in busied herself bringing them coffee and warm scones along with bits of breakfast sausage while introducing herself and the man as Gina Hoffman and her husband Robert.

  
  


“What brings you to London?” She’d beamed rubbing her husbands shoulder.

  
  


“I am here to find someone very important to me.” Villanelle had mumbled through a large mouthful of blueberry scone.

  
  


“A lover?” Gina had grinned and her husband perked up for the first time since she’d walked in.

  
  


“Something like that.” She shrugged. A small thrill went through her body when she realized she could kill them if she liked. No one could stop her. In the end she’d only taken a leftover scone for the road and walked away. Just the simple fact that she was capable and they didn’t suspect a thing was almost as satisfying as the rush she would have gotten had she committed the act.

  
  


Villanelle went downtown first walking into a high end fashioned store armed only with her remainder of euros and her day old outfit. The manager looked down his overly long nose at her drab attire and silently judged her but she’d just grinned and spun her way through the displays. Eventually she decided on a solid red pantsuit with a slit that goes all the way down to her stomach. It’s a sharp contrast with the tennis shoes she’d stolen from the poor sympathetic American but like most things, Villanelle can pull it off.

  
  


She is standing in front of Eve’s house within the hour. There is a moment of panic when Villanelle rememberers her earlier stunts with her suitcase and impromptu dinner time pop in. A reasonable person would almost certainly have changed addresses after a visit from a serial killer. Still when Villanelle sees the parked car and monogrammed Polastri welcome mat (which is so perfectly Eve) she is pleased that there will be no cat and mouse chase today.

  
  
  


The first thing she’d thought to do after she ran from Eve was how she would go about finding Eve again. Without Konstantin or the new stuck up handler she’d shot in the face standing in her way she had been free to follow any whim. Truth be told she wasn’t entirely sure what her plan was going forward. One part of Villanelle wanted to slam the other woman into a wall and rip whatever homely fashion faux paux she was wearing right off. The other part the _angry_ part wanted to hurt Eve, worse than she’d hurt Villanelle. Then they’d be even.

  
  


All the time she spent leaning on the stolen car trying to catch a glimpse through the shuttered windows was taken up by internally debating what she’d do to Eve. Irritatingly enough she wasn’t in the slightest bit prepared when another Polastri answered the door.

  
  


“You’re her husband right?” She raises an eyebrow and waits for confirmation. The man has the bushy straight out of the 80’s mustache that she vaguely remembers from the scare she gave Eve the last time she was in London. He gives her a once over eyes moving from her face to her plunging neckline.

  
  


“I think you might have the wrong house.” He says quickly moving to close the door. She jams a sneakered toe through the gap and leans forward so the people walking along the sidewalk can’t hear her next words.

  
  


“Better let me in Niko. The last husband to stand in the way of what I wanted…well it didn’t turn out so well for him. Not for me either I suppose but I’ve recovered.” She smirked “And we wouldn’t want to see Eve cry would we?” She jeers. The fury in the look he gives her is more than a little unnerving but she just laughs and slides in through the widened gap.

  
  


“Where’s your wife Niko?”  She asks once she’s taken his cell phone and locked the front door..

  
  
  


“God damnit don’t hurt her! I’ll do anything you want just..don’t hurt Eve.” He pleads. She throws back her head and laughs, long and hard. He stares at her appalled.

  
  
  


“Hurt her?” She repeats feigning shock. “I didn’t come here to _hurt_ Eve!” She tells him and right away knows this is true. “We have unfinished business Mr. Polastri! I only want a little girl talk.” She deadpans.

  
  
  


He doesn’t _really_ believe her not even after she lets him search her (almost) every inch of her for weapons. He stands guard in front of the door Eve must be behind and they stand in uncomfortable silence that Villanelle takes it upon herself to break.

  
  


“Would you like a scone?” She offers smiling as genuinely as she can muster. “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” Niko stands slack jawed.

  
  


“What kind of scone?” He asks curiously

  
  


“Blueberry.” She replies patting the pocket where she’s stowed it.

  
  


“Alright.” He sighs.

  
  


“It’s a little crumbly.” She warns him when he takes it from her palm. It’s at this moment that Eve steps out from the hallway bathroom.

  
  


It must be quite a shock for her, seeing her husband and the woman she stabbed standing in her entryway. Eve is wearing a nightgown with a pattern of multicolored kittens. It’s ridiculously garish but adorable all the same.

  
  


“Cute pajamas.”

  
  


“Is that a _scone_?” Eve wonders.

  
  


“Blueberry.” Niko mumbles.

  
  


“Can I have some?” Niko nods and hands her a piece. She and her husband stand there quietly chewing. They make quite a triad one stereotypical married couple and an assassin for hire.

  
  


“Can we talk?” Villanelle blurts out

  
  


“We probably should.” Eve admits. She beckons Villanelle towards the living room and Niko starts to follow. Eve freezes.

  
  


“Honey if would be best if it was just us” She tells him guiltily.

  
  


“Don’t even _think_ about running for help.” Eve warns him. “I’ll find you. And I’ll cut your prick off.”

  
  
  


Eve looks at her terrified. “No you won’t!”

  
  
  


“Fine. No I won’t.” She relents.

  
  


They sit together on Eve’s cushioned couches. An old sitcom is playing in the background. Eve presses mute. Villanelle half watches the slapstick routine play out before turning to her.

  
  


“You stabbed me!” She begins accusatory. “I thought-” Eve cuts her off laying a hand on her pantsuits knee.

  
  


“You thought what?” Eve cuts her off “That I was going to leave England run away with you? That we would become a duo of internationally renowned femme fatales?”

  
  


“I just thought we were going to fuck.” Villanelle replies a ghost of a smile on her lips. “But that little fantasy you just told me? That would have been nice.”

  
  


“It’s not a-” Eve stops talking when Villanelle raises an eyebrow. “You know what nevermind!” She says crossing her arms and staring at the floor.

  
  


“Oh stop pouting Eve. We both know you don’t have the stomach.” Villanelle points out patting her still sore abdomen.

  
  


“Are you alright?” Eve asks anxiously.

  
  


“I’m fine.” Villanelle reassures her leaning forward to play with a tendril of Eve’s puffy unbrushed  hair.

“I got hopped up on painkillers and blew Paris faster than a low end Amsterdam prostitute. Stole an Americans car and came straight to find you…” she explains cupping Eve’s cheek. There’s a mixture of emotions in the agent's eyes unwilling _arousal_ but also disappointment and revulsion.

  
  


“What am I going to do?” She mutters and Villanelle isn’t sure if it’s rhetorical.

  
  


“What do you want to do?” She answers anyway.

  
  


“I want to catch you. I want to see you punished for what you did to my friends.” She tells her slow and unsure.

  
  


“That’s not all you want Eve.” Villanelle teases leaning in even closer. “You haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time have you? Not even your husband Eve. _Don’t deny it.”_ She whispers.

  
  


The two women’s faces are inches apart, so close Villanelle can smell mint toothpaste on her breath.

It would be so easy to take what she wants, to close the small space between them, but Villanelle doesn’t want to do it herself. She needs it to be Eve. Needs to see her give in needs to see her broken over the wanting that is so undeniably screwed up.

  
  


“What are _you_ going to do?” Eve asks looking into Villanelle’s eyes so intensely she wants to break eye contact.

  
  


“I’m going to give you a chance to take something you want. And then I’m going to leave you to feel guilty about it.” She confirms smirking at Eve. It’s a gamble to shove the shame right in the other woman’s face but it’s the right choice. Eve’s eyes are watering with unshed tears threatening to spill over at any second.

  
  


She leans in and brushes Villanelles top lip with her bottom. The kiss is whisper soft and over far too soon but it’s all the incentive she needs. Villanelle grabs the back of her neck and pulls her back in sharpened fingernails digging into the soft skin of her neck. Villanelle is rougher than Eve shoving their lips together. She nips a little and Eve cries out.  Villanelle smiles into the kiss and shoves Eve backwards, arms outstretched. The smaller woman falls over her head hanging off the back end of the couch. She finds her balance and sits up a singular tear tracing its way down her cheek. Villanelle flicks it away.

  
  


“Next time _you_ find me.” She tells her standing up and dusting some of the leftover crumbs from the scone off her knees. Niko is still in the entryway pacing back and forth. She’s not surprised that he didn’t leave Eve. She is lucky to have a man this loyal to her. Obviously this makes Vilanelle jealous but that’s a worry for another day.

  
  


“Good boy.” She praises. “Go comfort your wife.” Villanelle steps into the early afternoon sunshine squinting a little at how bright it’s become. She’s got about ten minutes before the police arrive and there’s a world full of possibilities ahead

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated! ;))


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